Madly In Love
by Nuuoa
Summary: What was worse? Him falling in love with her as well? Or him not loving her? It made her even angrier. MADLY in love. Just add fuel to the flame. That would just attract the mad little moth even closer to the flame. Where she would surely burn. AxA


**Madly In Love**

By: Nuuoa Eclaire

**Author's Note: **Yeah, I feel really bad about not being able to get everything updated; due to a variety of reasons involving me being very busy- as usual- I haven't been able to update. And I've been having a strong desire to work on an original piece. I hope you guys can continue to forgive me, as you've been so supportive so far. I don't get as many reviews, but I don't seem to care anymore, because now it is about the writing. Thank you, and enjoy this random spurt of inspiration. –Nuuoa Eclaire

Love: A temporary insanity curable by marriage or by the removal of the patient from the influences under which he incurred the disorder. This disease, like _caries_ and many other ailments, is prevalent only among civilized races living under artificial conditions; barbarous nations breathing pure air and eating simple food enjoy immunity from its ravages. It is sometimes fatal, but more frequently to the physician than to the patient.

Ambrose Bierce in _The Devil's Dictionary_

All Atlanta could say was that there was a reason it was called being 'madly' in love.

If you could look up the term, she was guessing it would result in literally being driven insane over love. Being bitten by the love bug. Love sickness.

Love sickness. IT was actually viewed as a mental illness brought on by the intense changes associated with falling in love.

For that matter, she could be considered to have a mental illness. That's really what she needed.

It made her want to vomit.

How she hated that… thing…

It wasn't that 'he' had been more dorky then usual, or more boastful either. No. It was the pure unadulterated fact that 'he' WAS doing the exact same things as normal. And for some reason every smile, laugh, smirk, or compliment made her want to…

"Hey, Atlanta, want to toss the ball around?"

Nope. She wanted to toss his fuzzy purple head around until it…

"Hey, look! I found some old nursery rhymes. Want to read them with me?"

Dorky Dumpty sat on a wall. Dorky Dumpty had a great fall…

She wished he had had a great fall. That way he could fall with her. Into the pit of love. That icky, mushy, oozing gob of evil. EVIL! If he were in with her, then she wouldn't drown. Atlanta could hold on to him, for a life vest. Great, she was holding onto something unstable. And 'he' was afraid of water. Joyous!

What was worse? Him falling in love with her as well? Or him not loving her?

It made her even angrier. MADLY in love. Just add fuel to the flame. That would just attract the mad little moth even closer to the flame. Where she would surely burn.

But Atlanta was already burned. Burned by his touch. Burned by his gaze, blazing into the back of her heart.

Atlanta sometimes told Theresa after a fight that great things never came with the same taste if you didn't work for them. If you didn't hurt yourself while trying to stop the hurt.

She remembered a famous quote by a name she had forgotten. "Love isn't love if you didn't hurt someone." Atlanta was determined not to let that person be her. She would win.

She would challenge this unwanted feeling with vigor. Mocking, and all the while she would keep blazing on down the track; trying to outrun the only thing that always seemed one-step ahead, for the first time in her life. Love.

Atlanta refused to let her heart be lured, or to skip a beat. In running, if you skipped or tripped, you would fail. You would lose. You would fall.

And boy how it would hurt.

Atlanta never lost. And when she did; she got mad. Very mad.

But truth be told: she HAD fallen.

Great. Atlanta had 'fallen' in love. Shouldn't that be considered an injury? She should so be able to sue the guy who did this to her for some serious molla.

But then 'he' would get the satisfaction that she cared enough to bother. So she wouldn't react.

But then he would think she actually didn't care that she had submitted- no, lost- to him. Not his legs, but his eyes, voice, smile, and face. Atlanta wouldn't give him the satisfaction of winning. If she did, she wouldn't get the blabber to stop pouring from his perfect, godly lips…

BAD THOUGHT!

Wow, she really was insane.

And that made her mad.

Madly in love.

But she wouldn't admit that, she would simply continue to yell at the object of her affections. Archie.

And what a beautiful object it was. Suddenly before her.

"Do you need some help, Atlanta?"

"I need to get some anger management."

Oops…

Yes, not a very good piece, I admit that. But I love the concept, and I needed to get back into a rhythm of sorts. Thank you, and I'd love to get some comments. –Nuuoa Eclaire


End file.
